Hello. My name is Jaimie.
This feels a little strange doing this the second time around, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to just copy and paste the old about page from the previous blog. Well, that’s a lie, I could- but I fear that my lack of updates recently has incensed the Imperial College Student Blogs team such that such behaviour may have been the proverbial straw breaking the proverbial camel’s back. So last year, I started with a photo, and in all honesty, not much has changed:
Worryingly, it didn’t take me long to find that photo on facebook.
So kids, if you’re sitting comfortably, then I’ll begin…
Jaimie? Who He?
I am now a third year medical student, at this fine establishment known as Imperial College. This means that someone, at some
point in time which will probably in future be referred to as “black Monday,” has decided that I am now educated enough to be let loose on real patients in a real hospital. Don’t worry, I was as worried as you probably are now, but I have completed at least one attachment with only the requisite amount of body fluid spillage.
I would also like to point out at this stage the spelling of my name- Jaimie. It is unusual, and to this day I have never got a satisfactory explanation from my parents as to why this is, with the possible exception of making it a pain in the backside to get any personalised keyrings etc. from novelty souvenir shops.
As a person, I previously described myself as a 53 year old cab driver with back pain. In retrospect I feel that is now inaccurate, as I am theoretically a 54 year old cab driver with back and neck pain, if we were to take the metaphor to its natural conclusion. In my spare time I volunteer with the student wing of St John Ambulance, LINKS; I am president of the Debating Society (feel free to keep any witty remarks to yourself- I guarantee you I have heard and/or made them all) and a few other hobbies that I can’t sadly talk about in an open forum. Gutted, because the adventures that result can be absolutely hilarious (NB I am sadly not a spy).
I earn some cash working with children for the council, which may come as a surprise. You have to make your own humour, that’s my advice. Medicine prepares you, I have found, for any number of toilet related emergencies.
I have a slightly off-balance sense of humour, but it is humour nonetheless, so don’t take anything you read on here too seriously.
Something I would like to briefly point out, as you may find it in photos on the blog, is that the “slit” in my eyebrow is scar tissue from a fight with a radiator that I lost when I was 3. I didn’t shave it off to look cool.
A brief history of recent times
My life prior to this point has been relatively normal; unlike some of my fellow bloggers who have lead some fantastically varied and well travelled lives I was born and bred in the suburbs of South London (sometimes
referred to in the Media and by my brother as “the Ghetto.” Hah). As it goes, my travel history has been mostly Europe on family/friend holidays. I like England a little too much but hopefully one day soon I will travel off the beaten track. I went to a grammar school and did pretty much everything you can imagine- except sport and work. Somehow I came out the other side with a good set of grades and ended up applying for medicine. After a wholly unsuccessful attempt at applying to Oxford, Imperial was my next choice. When I look back I think fate somehow made the right decision for me, but not being a superstitious man, I would say it might have something to do with cocking up the interviews.
I have however, always enjoyed enjoying myself, which will account for some of the experiences and photographic evidence you may find on the blog. My good friend Mr Samuel Buca Esq is often a bad influence on me, so blame him.
I spent my First year, in Tizard Hall in the new Southside development. Staying in a bed that you could guarantee nothing untoward has happened in is a luxury rarely afforded to those in University accommodation,
but afforded it was. My second year was spent in a flat above a post office in Fulham, with an ambient temperature only previously recorded in the arctic circle. In fact, you can see a hilarious virtual tour that
has haunted me since it was filmed here; look out especially for the point where I nod for far too long and for no apparent reason at my flatmates, and also where I make the world’s most cringe-worthy comment about my bedroom. Second year academically speaking was rough- mainly because I had to cram a year’s worth of work into 3 weeks- again- because I have no ability to time manage. Whoops.
However, I still passed and as you have heard I am now in hospital across London, learning the trade. I will try to tell you as much as I can about my exploits but at the same time I would like to actually earn my GMC registration before it is taken away from me.
Good question. Next.
Ok, in reality, it’s not a question I can readily answer in a page here- some of you who are prospective Imperial Medics might be looking here for advice. I intend to write another of these pages about medicine and my overall experience as well as advice, but in the mean time, feel free to email me. In the meantime, I can tell you that it does mean you get to do amusing things like make presentations containing this photo:
Yes, I have one.
And in it?
In it is contained a younger brother, a mother and step-father, as well as two dogs, and a full array of household equipment. I also get on well with my Dad. I also keep in good contact with my past schoolfriends; the long suffering girlfriend you may have heard about last year had enough of being long suffering and has moved on to pastures new, but my loyal partner in crime Connor and I continue to wreak havoc in London.
During the term I live in slightly better-heated house in Fulham with five other (female) medics. I realise this may make me look like even more of a pimp than last year (if that were possible), but I unfortunately re-iterate my previous statement it’s not so much Hugh Heffner as “Hugh’s going to do the washing up?” Thankfully we now have a dishwasher and as such I have escaped 8 weeks without any washing up as of my writing this.
As you may have also noticed, I make no apologies for bad jokes.
But Jaimie, that can’t be it? I need more information. MORE!!!11
Feel free to email me at email@example.com or leave a comment (do that, it makes me look popular) and I’ll tell you what
you want to know…within reason. You sir, fictional poser of this question, appear to need counselling.
So let us spin the wheel again and feel free to join me once more on my exploits across the year as I deal with life and death; Ikea and Argos; chalk and cheese; and wine and beer. I hope you find it as enjoyable as I do writing it…when I get round to it.